


A Pear of Idiots in Eden

by nightbloomingcereus



Series: Name That Author prompt fills [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Accidental Kink Discovery, Crowley Watches Aziraphale Eat (Good Omens), First Kiss, First Time, Hand Jobs, Humor, Inappropriate Erections, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), M/M, Making an Effort (Good Omens), Oral Sex, Pears, Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), erotic fruit consumption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:20:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24092722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbloomingcereus/pseuds/nightbloomingcereus
Summary: Aziraphale discovers pears.  Crawly discovers… other things.Or, Aziraphale likes pears.  A lot.  Crawly likes Aziraphale.  A lot.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Name That Author prompt fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1737703
Comments: 74
Kudos: 254
Collections: Courts GO Re-Reads, Name That Author Round 3: After Dark





	1. Juicy

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter 1 was originally written for the Name That Author: After Dark (Round 3) game on the GO-events discord. The prompt was "This better not awaken anything in me."
> 
> Big thanks to curtaincall for organizing, as always! And check out the other incredible entries in the collection - maybe they'll awaken something in you!

"Crawly," said Aziraphale excitedly, "I've made a discovery!"

He handed a pear, golden and fragrant, to the demon, who was sprawled out languorously on the ground. It was sun-warmed and pleasantly round and weighty in Crawly's hand.

"'S a pear. So?"

"I ate one, and it was _wonderful_ , and then my Effort—well, it _woke up_ , I suppose."

"It _what?"_

"It woke up! Perked right up and stood at attention. It was kind of … tingly. I've had the thing for _weeks_ and it's never done _anything_ until now. I was beginning to think it wasn't good for anything. Like the appendix, or tonsils. It was terribly exciting, I must say."

The angel was positively wiggling with delight.

"And the pear did all that?"

"Here, why don't you try? I suspect it'll be easier than trying to explain."

Skeptically, Crawly took a bite of the pear in his hand. It was ripe, sweet, and yielding; juice trickled down his chin. He swallowed, then pushed his robes off to one side and prodded experimentally at his Effort, which lay limp and unresponsive as always.

"Don't know what you're on about, Angel. Nothing's happening. See?"

"Oh," said Aziraphale, peering at it intently. He sounded perplexed and a little put-out. "I don't understand. Mine is doing it again. It's throbbing a bit, but not in a bad way."

"Nothing. Nada. Zilch. Maybe mine is defective."

"Nonsense, dear. It's quite the lovely Effort. Very finely made, and the red hair sets it off so nicely."

Crawly blushed. He rather fancied his Effort did too, although it remained resolutely flaccid.

Aziraphale furrowed his brow in confusion and took the bitten fruit back from Crawly. 

"Well, I don't know how to make yours work then, I'm afraid. Shame. It feels so nice. But there's no sense in letting the rest of this go to waste." He took a large mouthful of pear, biting into the succulent flesh with small, pearly, perfect teeth. Juice glinted, sticky and sweet, on his lower lip. He chewed slowly and inhaled, his eyes half-closed; a small, blissful moan escaped from between his lips. 

Something stirred, sudden and almost violent, like a striking snake, in the lower regions of Crawly's abdomen. It was a hot rush of blood and sensation and tightness to his groin, coupled with a dizzy, euphoric feeling in his head. He tore his gaze away from the angel and looked down. 

"Oh!" he said, delighted. "Angel! It's working! Look at it! I can see it getting bigger! You think it'll ever stop growing?"

Aziraphale was staring at it, too. He appeared transfixed. Together, they watched as a bead of clear fluid formed at the tip of Crawly's Effort, which was now nearly twice its original size, pointing stiffly upwards, and pulsing slightly. 

The angel's hand twitched at his side. The pads of his fingers, Crawly thought wildly, were probably slightly rough and calloused from wielding his sword.

"I wonder what else it can do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several people in the game were _very_ interested in what else it can do, so there will most likely be (at least) one more chapter of these idiots figuring things out. (The rating will almost certainly go up as well.)


	2. Plump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up: the rating has changed to E.

"Let's have a look at yours then," said Crawly. "'S only fair, you've seen mine."

"Well, when you put it that way, I suppose it couldn't hurt," said Aziraphale. He fiddled with his hem, lifting it up and then letting it drop back down again. After a few moments, he made a dissatisfied face and shucked the entire garment off over his head. 

"Grass stains," was all he said by way of explanation. "So difficult to get out of white linen."

He did have a point, although Crawly felt rather smug about the fact that his own robes, which were currently haphazardly bunched up around his waist, were black and wouldn't show stains. 

He didn't voice this thought to Aziraphale, however, as he was too busy staring at the angel laid bare before him, a feast of hills and valleys and soft mounds of creamy flesh. Aziraphale bent to place his neatly folded robes on the ground, giving Crawly a splendid and entirely breathtaking view of his bare bottom.

"'S like a peach," he blurted out.

"Pardon?"

"Your bum. It's like a peach. All round and blushy. A little fuzzy. You've got _dimples_ , Angel. All I've got is bones."

"Oh," said Aziraphale, sounding flustered. "I like peaches. I like your bones too."

He was eyeing Crawly's exposed hip-bones as he said this, and it felt for all the world like that intent gaze was a tangible, searing thing tracing their sharp outlines. 

Aziraphale sat down on the grass beside him, very close. His Effort stood up, flushed and proud, from a nest of downy white curls atop a pair of plump, beautiful thighs that were dimpled and striped with pale silvery streaks.

"I’m afraid mine's not as long or as elegant as yours."

"No, but it’s thicker. Wish mine were big and strong like that. It'll stand up to a stiff breeze, yours."

He made a circle with his thumb and forefinger and slipped it over his own Effort, where it just fit, snugly, around the base. The drag of his own hand down along its length set off a shivery sensation along his hip and up into his spine, which was both thrilling and somewhat tickly. He felt his eyes go wide and bit back a giggle. Next to him, Aziraphale inhaled sharply.

"See, it fits around mine. Bet yours is too big around though."

Neither of them spoke for a moment, until Aziraphale said impatiently, "Well what are you waiting for? Go on then, and see if it fits."

Gingerly, Crawly reached out and grasped the base of Aziraphale's Effort. It did not, in fact, fit within the circle of his fingers, and was so hard that there was almost no give, but he could curl his hand quite comfortably around it. The skin was taut and shockingly soft and smooth under his fingertips; he could feel the rhythmic pulsing of the angel's heartbeat through it. The round balls at the base, in the pale, cloud- soft hair, were a satisfying weight in his palm, like the pear Aziraphale had handed him earlier. 

He trailed his finger slowly downward, tracing the prominent veins one by one, delighting in the way Aziraphale's Effort twitched in response, at the hitch of his breath, the moan that was like the sound he had made biting into the pear, only longer and louder and more drawn out.

His own Effort was taking quite an interest in the proceedings as well. Aziraphale seemed to have noticed, as he was shifting closer and reaching toward it. Their thighs, both trembling, were pressed together warmly now from hip to knee. 

Aziraphale was _petting_ him, softly running his fingers through the thatch of red hair between his legs. He'd never been petted, coddled, stroked before, not like that, not with such gentleness, not here here in Eden, nor in Hell, nor in Heaven so long ago. Every so often, the heel of Aziraphale's hand bumped up against the tip of his Effort, making it bob gently against his stomach and sending a sharp jolt of sensation into his core. 

The stroking of his hair somehow turned into the stroking of his Effort. Aziraphale's fingers were indeed slightly rough at the tips, just as he had imagined; there was just the barest hint of tantalizing texture as he skimmed them along what had to be the most sensitive parts of Crawly's skin. Some sort of intense pressure was building at the base of his spine, sending tremors up and down its length, filling him with heat and urging him to raise his hips and press more and more urgently into the angel's warm, broad hand. 

And _oh. Oh. OH._ There was a feeling, like lightning arcing through his body; it rushed from the ends of his curling toes to the tip of his throbbing Effort, and stuttered through each and every one of his inhumanly numerous vertebrae in turn before exploding, brilliantly, in his brain. Stars burst, white-hot, in his vision; his eyes bloomed fully into gold. 

His hand had tightened reactively around Aziraphale's Effort. The angel let out a long, helpless, stuttery moan that sounded like Crawly's name. The exhale of his breath was hot and quick against Crawly's shoulder. The thrust of his hips up against Crawly's hand was almost violent, the arch of his back ecstatic.

It lasted only a few moments, but what moments they were. When it was all over, stripes of thick white liquid lay splattered across both of their stomachs. He felt exhausted and loose-limbed and limp, wrung out in a delicious way. Aziraphale was laid back in the grass, with his eyes closed and a blissful look on his face.

"Gngmmpkssssss." 

"What, dear? Come again?"

"Sorry. Did I hiss? Sometimes I go all … snake-y when I get overwhelmed."

"Oh, was it overwhelming? I'm sorry."

"Nononono, don't be _sorry_. Don't ever be sorry. Not for that. It was _amazing_ , Angel. I've never felt anything even close to that before."

"If it was anything like mine, then I wholeheartedly agree with you. And yes, you did hiss a bit. I find it quite endearing, actually."

Aziraphale sat up and examined his hand, which was wet and sticky with the milky fluid, and gave it a curious sniff.

"It smells like that tree, you know, the one with the pretty white flowers beside the pond," he said, and then added, a little sadly, "It looks like it should have pears but it never does."

He popped the tip of his index finger in his mouth, his plump pink lips pursing around it. Crawly’s effort, which had only just been thoroughly wrung dry, made a valiant effort to rouse itself and failed, which was both a disappointment and a relief. 

"Oh, it's bitter. I had hoped it would be nice tasting."

There was a small, conspicuous smear of white on his pouty bottom lip. Crawly could not seem to stop looking at it.

"Could I have a taste?"

"Of course, but are you sure you want to? It's really rather— _oh_!" Crawly had leaned in and his tongue, forked at the end, had darted out to swipe the liquid from Aziraphale's lip. It _was_ bitter, but underlying that was something that tasted a little bit of pears and a little bit of salt and a little bit of some unknown spice.

He flicked his tongue across Aziraphale's mouth again, and again, and on the third pass the angel's lips parted and he caught the tip of the serpentine tongue between his teeth, trapping it there with a gentle pressure. And then their mouths were pressed together, and Aziraphale's lips and tongue on his were soft and plump and warm, and his whole mouth was full of the taste of him, sweet and salty and spicy. His heart was pounding again, not in the urgent, explosive way it had earlier, but in a manner that bespoke fullness and uncontained joy and soft comfort. 

He thought he could have spent hours kissing Aziraphale, but after a while he became uncomfortably aware of the sticky, congealing mess between their bodies and the cold dampness of his robes. He'd been wrong too, it seemed, about black robes being stain-proof. Giving it up as a lost cause, he took the garment off entirely, and used it to clean off both of their stomachs as best he could. There was a pond nearby that would do quite nicely for a bath, but the sun was warm and Aziraphale was soft and glowing beside him and, in any case, he did not think that his legs had yet regained the ability to stand.

And so instead, he laid his head in Aziraphale's lap and let himself drift off into a contented sleep with the angel's hands, strong and gentle, running through his hair. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooo, after over 100K words written, this is now officially my first E-rated fic. I hope it was worth the wait?
> 
> There's one more chapter to come!


	3. Delicious

Crawly awoke, some time later, with his head pillowed on the angel's plump thigh. A few stray wisps of hair tickled the tip of his nose. It was warm, and the languid, rustling sounds of the Garden were a pleasant buzz in the background.

He heard a low "Hello, dear. Did you have a nice nap?" from somewhere nearby, and turned his head, cracking open one slant-pupiled eye as he did so. Aziraphale's face appeared above him, wearing an unmistakably fond smile and backlit by the green, dappled light filtering through the leaves.

"I hope you don't mind that I borrowed your robes," said Aziraphale. "The ground was getting quite uncomfortable. Bit pokey. And I didn’t want to move."

He had, Crawly noted suddenly, not donned his clothing again. Neither of them had. The garments in question were instead spread out beneath their bodies, and whatever was below the layers of fabric was delightfully soft and squishy.

"Hard on the buttocks, the ground."

"So I thought, well, what if we had a big pile of something nice and soft, feathers maybe, to lie on. That would be easy enough to miracle up. We've loads of spare feathers all over the place Upstairs and nobody would miss them. But then they kept blowing all over the place and getting in my nose and making such a frightful mess, so I laid our robes down over them, and that worked a treat. I'm afraid you might be finding bits of feather in yours for a while though."

"I don't mind. You're right, it feels very decadent. Almost _sinful._ Sloth, y'know. One of the big seven and all."

"It's only a sin if done to excess. Even She had to take a break sometime. It's only natural to rest and recover after great exertion. And we exerted ourselves quite a bit this morning, wouldn't you say?"

"Could sleep for a hundred years on this thing, I could. Is that excess-full enough for you?"

"Yes, dear."

"But you didn't sleep, did you?"

"No, but I find myself feeling quite relaxed and restored, I assure you. Do you know, you are quite beautiful in repose? Although I missed seeing your eyes."

Crawly made an incoherent noise in response, and buried his face deeper into the deliciously soft nest of curls between Aziraphale's legs, which smelled of something musky and intoxicating that he had already begun referring to as _happy angel_ in his head. This close to the source, the taste of it in the air was practically tangible; he couldn't help opening his mouth and sucking in a greedy breath and holding it there, heady and sweet on his serpent's tongue. When he exhaled, blowing a wash of warm air through the pale curls, Aziraphale inhaled an audible, ragged breath of his own and a little tremor went through the soft thigh beneath Crawly's head. Directly in front of his face, Aziraphale's Effort was clearly beginning to awaken once again.

"Would you—" Aziraphale began, stutteringly, "Would you like to taste it? Your breath is so warm, it feels ever so lovely, and well—I find myself rather curious to know whether your mouth might feel even better."

Crawly did not need to be told twice. The long, forked tongue darted out from between his lips and trailed along the length of Aziraphale's Effort, from the base all the way to the bulb at the top. And oh, if he had thought the taste of the air was wonderful before, it was nothing compared to this, the musk and the salt and the exhilaration of it. Without conscious thought, he rolled over, propped himself up on his elbows, and wrapped his lips around the smooth, rounded tip, greedily opening his mouth wider to take more and more of it in.

Aziraphale's Effort grew satisfyingly thick and full in his mouth. Inspired, he performed a tight corkscrew maneuver with his tongue, a twisting, swirling movement coupled with gentle suction. He'd twirled his tongue in a similar manner around his own finger once or twice when he was bored to see how just many times he could make it go around, but it had not felt in the least like this, with the weight and firmness of the angel's Effort in his mouth, the way it strained against his lips and stretched his jaw. The brush of the smooth, silken skin against the sensitive underside of his tongue was like nothing he'd ever imagined.

Aziraphale was gasping and panting and moaning loudly, and had begun thrusting his hips upward in a way that was both rhythmic and wild; he slid in and out, hot and hard and slick against Crawly's lips, the blunt tip bumping against the roof of his mouth. He had his hands on Crawly's head and was grabbing fistfuls of hair, his fingers flexing, firm and hot, against his scalp.

And suddenly Aziraphale was shouting his name, and arching his back, and lifting his hips clear off the ground, and making a series of final, powerful thrusts up into Crawly's mouth, and spilling hot and wet down his throat. His head was thrown back, his eyes were scrunched shut, and there was a look of perfect, angelic bliss on his flushed face. A pulse jumped, wildly, in his pale, arched throat. His hair was mussed and damp with sweat, and his chest rose and fell with gasping breaths. He pulled back, his Effort emerging, red and wet, from Crawly's mouth; on impulse, Crawly leaned forward and placed a gentle, close-mouthed kiss on the velvety, softening tip.

Aziraphale was smiling at him in a muzzy, blissed-out way.

"Huh," said Crawly, licking his lips, "Guess I really _don't_ have a gag reflex."

He felt perversely proud of this fact, and could not help preening just a little, by opening his mouth and sticking a long finger down into his throat.

" _Really_ , dear," said Aziraphale. "Is that at all necessary?"

Crawly grinned and waggled the finger at Aziraphale. "I didn't see you complaining about it just now."

Aziraphale sniffed haughtily, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him by turning upward.

"Shall I give it a go too, then? But I'm afraid I must apologize in advance. My tongue is nowhere near as talented as yours. It's just the bog-standard human model."

"Nothing bog-standard about you, Angel."

His tongue might not have been as long and bendy as Crawly's but that was more than made up for by the way he knelt between Crawly's legs and pursed his plush lips and hollowed his cheeks and licked slowly and decadently up and down, by the way he savored the demon like a pear, by the way he hummed around the pulsing heat of Crawly in his mouth.

"Am I a pear?" Crawly asked suddenly, in between panting breaths.

"Are you a what, dear?" mumbled Aziraphale, his voice rather muffled and indistinct because his mouth was currently occupied with other things.

"A pear. You're making the same face and the same noises, the ones you made when you ate that pear earlier."

"Oh, no, darling. You're _much_ more scrumptious."

Crawly looked down and Aziraphale looked up, his mouth still wrapped around him, and their eyes met, amber-gold and shifting blue-grey. And then Aziraphale did something with his tongue at the tip and something else simultaneously with his hand around the shaft, and Crawly's eyes rolled upward and he sucked in a sharp breath and the leaves and the sky and the pears in the tree overhead all turned to stars.

Several minutes passed, during which his vision came back into focus and he was treated to the sight of Aziraphale with red and swollen lips and a sticky mess dripping from his chin onto his chest. He was still trying to catch his breath, holding himself up with one broad hand splayed out on Crawly's hip. He looked, Crawly thought, like Temptation incarnate, but also somehow the purest thing he'd ever laid eyes upon.

Perhaps Aziraphale had caught him staring, because he suddenly sat up and snapped his fingers. He looked immensely pleased when the mess disappeared, leaving himself clean and dry and smelling faintly of pears.

"Silly me," he said, "I've only just remembered that we could have been miracling away the mess this whole time, instead of dirtying our robes."

Crawly curled up into the angel's side and breathed in the scent of him, basked in the warmth of him. He trailed his fingers idly through the hair on Aziraphale's chest.

"I think," he mused, "that the Effort is like a second Brain. All those nerve endings going there. So many things that make it react. I wonder if it can _think_."

Aziraphale furrowed his brow. "Well, mine seems to have a mind of its own. I don't remember seeing anything about it on the schematics in the orientation packet though. We might ask Adam and Eve."

"Oh. The humans," said Crawly with a sigh. "I'd almost forgotten there was anyone else here. I'm probably supposed to be working right now. Head office told me to go make some trouble. Someone suggested doing something with fruit."

"Is this trouble? Am _I_ the trouble? Oh dear. I should probably be thwarting you right now, shouldn't I?"

"If it makes you feel any better, Angel, I think you've managed to incapacitate me. Pretty sure I can't walk right now, for one thing."

"Well then, I should just keep you right here, where I can keep an eye on you. I'd only be doing my job after all." Aziraphale's arm tightened, warm, around him.

"Mmm. I do still have to come up with something … fruity and troublesome. Not pears though. Saving all the pears for you."

"There are peaches, and bananas, and cherries, and grapes. Oh, they're _all_ delicious and all different, Crawly! You must try them all."

"Are there any fruits here that you _don't_ like?"

"Well, there's that apple tree, right in the middle of the Garden. I tried one the other day and I daresay I don't know what all the fuss was about. There are much nicer apples on the other trees; the yellow ones by the waterfall are rather tasty. But those big red ones; they look much better than they taste. Such a disappointment."

"That'll do."

"Oh, well, I should think a pear would be much more tempting."

 _You have no idea, Angel_.

He hummed noncommittally.

"Or the pomegranate," continued Aziraphale dreamily. "Have you ever tried a pomegranate? The way those juicy little arils burst on your tongue, all sweet and sour … although it does make such a mess."

Crawly's mind helpfully supplied an image of Aziraphale, fingertips and robes stained with red, lips rosy and tasting of pomegranates. He imagined feeding the seeds to the angel, his mouth taking them one by one from his fingers, the way the juice would bloom crimson and bright on his lips.

"Nah," he said. "Apple's fine. Doesn't need to taste like much, so long as it _looks_ tempting. Spiffy images for the promotional material. Black-and-red serpent, shiny red apple, you know."

"It _does_ paint a pretty picture. But I expect you'll be moving along after that to your next assignment. It'll be ever so lonely here without you, and I've so enjoyed sharing these new experiences with you."

There was a tiny, fretful note in his voice that made something in Crawly's chest twinge. Reaching over, he pulled Aziraphale to him so that they were lying chest to chest, hips to hips, skin to skin. He rolled them so that he was lying on top, and let his wings materialize and unfurl above them in a profusion of dark, sleek feathers. All of Eden, all of the light and the sound and the awareness of it, faded away into a serene hush; there were just the two of them, pressed close, beneath the arched canopy of his mantled wings.

When he spoke, it was in a fierce whisper that was for his angel's ears only.

"Don't have to do it just yet, a few more days won't hurt. Nobody expects a demon to be punctual anyhow. And if they ask, I'll tell them I was unavoidably detained by my adversary.

And Aziraphale. I promise you, I _promise,_ that if I have to go away, I'll find you again. I'll always find you, wherever on Earth you might be."

Aziraphale's eyes widened a fraction, as if with some kind of new awareness; he smiled a smile that was wobbly but true, and reached out to touch Crawly's face.

"I'll hold you to that promise, darling. After all, I'm absolutely certain we have so many more things to discover together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all the wonderful folks on the GO-events discord server, for encouraging me to pop my smut cherry! I could not have done this without you all!

**Author's Note:**

> The incredible doorwaytoparadise drew beautiful fanart for every single work in this challenge: [Awakening](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24102748/chapters/58019701)! This fic is #27.
> 
> Come visit me at [moondawntreader](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/moondawntreader) on tumblr!   
> You can reblog this story [here](https://moondawntreader.tumblr.com/post/618467249287741440/a-pear-of-idiots-in-eden-4089-words-by) if you like.


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